


Practice and Teaching

by CorsetJinx



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Gen, Post Dead Kings DLC, Swordplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 13:08:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6705559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorsetJinx/pseuds/CorsetJinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re making the best of it, all things considered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Practice and Teaching

“Like this?” Leon shifted his feet, unknowingly making his stance too wide as he adjusted his grasp on the saber he favored for sword practice. Expect brown eyes looked up at the older brunet, expression eager but also serious underneath it all.

Arno shook his head, moving closer so that he might correct the errors. One booted foot nudged Leon’s left, the younger one wobbling slightly as he tried to comply with the unspoken direction and keep his balance. The Assassin steadied him, guiding the boy’s arms into proper position, wary of the way the saber tilted as he did so.

Thankfully, Leon was too used to holding it to accidentally hit the older man – and Arno was too aware of the blade itself to let the accident happen.

“Do not rest so much of your weight in your knees, little man. Stand like that and you will only get bowled over.” Arno was pleased to see his pupil nod rather than complain, but that was usually how it was with the little thief. Leon was eager to learn and improve his skill – two of the obstacles that barred his way were usually a lack of actual experience and the occasional bout of childish impatience that stemmed from a desire to hurry up and actually be _good_ at swordplay.

Another was time, for a myriad of reasons, but they did what they could to work around that.

“Better?” Once more Leon looked up at his mentor, a wide grin breaking out over his face at the faint nod of approval. It quickly became a yelp as one of the Assassin’s legs tripped the boy up just as he’d begun to celebrate, stance completely lost as Leon struggled not to end up on his rear in the dirt and sparse grass.

“What was that for?” Catching himself, with some stumbling, the lad now regarded the taller man with narrowed eyes. Unconsciously, his hand tightened on the saber’s hilt, but the weight of the weapon was steadily dragging his arm down – still too large for him to be able to wield it as easy and swift as Arno could.

He would grow into it, the Assassin said. The day would come soon enough that he’d at least be able to defend himself with it, rather than stones and knives that he’d relied on in the past.

“Focus, Leon.” The serious lilt of Arno’s voice caught his attention, drawing him back from his frustration at things he could not control. “If you cannot maintain balance then you will be overcome. You cannot expect the ground to always be steady under your feet.”

A memory flashed in the thief’s mind – how the catacombs had shook when he and the Assassin had pursued the Dead King’s treasure. How, even though he’d stumbled just as Leon himself had, Arno had helped him to his feet and guided him out.

Pushing past his ire, his pride, the boy nodded.

A smile nearly touched his mentor’s lips, but Arno suppressed it, gesturing for him to resume his stance.

Leon did, watching the hooded man as best he could as Arno circled him, adding small corrections to how he held the saber or distributed his weight. A prickle on the back of his neck coaxed him into sidestepping – clumsily yes, but he avoided the Assassin’s foot this time and managed to get back into position more quickly.

It was, in the boy’s mind, not so different from anticipating the movements of the militia that still patrolled the streets – sensing when he was being watched or ignored, if he was being followed or if someone meant him harm.

So lost in thought was he that he missed the quick step Arno took and the flap of the man’s coat.

Belatedly, Leon realized that his hand was smarting and empty, his saber’s point now resting gently on the ball of his right shoulder. Arno quirked a brow at him when he started to open his mouth, call the move unfair. With effort he shut his mouth instead, kicking out at the man’s longer legs at the ankle and making an attempt to get the saber back.

It earned the thief a light smack with the flat of the blade across his back – it smarted yes but it wouldn’t bruise, he thought – and an almost playful smirk was splayed on the Assassin’s face.

“You can stop gloating, _bastard._ I know you’re stronger than me.” The boy rolled his eyes, daring to fold his arms as though Arno were the student and he the teacher. The beginnings of a foul mood faded, however, when the taller brunet relaxed his stance and bowed, offering him the weapon hilt-first.

He took it, withholding a grunt mainly for the sake of the older man not being able to call him on it.

Arno straightened up, one gloved hand reaching out to ruffle Leon’s short hair. The boy complained, but only a little, swatting away the hand with a miffed expression.

“Come, it’s time for you to go in for supper.” This time Arno did smile, the expression softening the previous sternness until it might as well have been a trick of the light. Leon huffed, rolling his thin shoulders with a faint grimace and set the saber aside for the next time they practiced. He let himself fall into step with the Assassin, trying to match the near-soundless quality the man’s stride possessed. When one of Arno’s hands settled on his opposite shoulder, he let it, feeling a glimmer of pride that he was someone the Assassin trusted.

“So, when do I get to know where it is you stay when you aren’t here?” The thief turned his head to look up at his companion, smiling even as the older man took the chance to roll his eyes as Leon had done earlier.

“Put it from your mind, little man. I don’t need you showing up where I sleep to bother me for more lessons.” There was a trace of humor in the brunet’s voice, the hand on the younger one’s shoulder squeezing gently before drawing back now that they were Mademoiselle Margot’s door.

Leon scoffed, already reaching for the knob of the door, looking back at Arno over his shoulder. “When I do find out, I’ll make sure you never postpone a lesson again.”

Arno graced him with a faintly wrinkled nose and a shooing motion from one hand, the last sight of him the boy had being of his broad back as the man turned to walk away.


End file.
